


Go West

by reversetheuniverse



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:57:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8446669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reversetheuniverse/pseuds/reversetheuniverse
Summary: That’s what this whole thing is—a waiting game. They wait for lifeless bodies wailing around them, wait for death, wait for some kind of a sign . . . The clock ticks in their minds, reminding them of how short their stay on this earth has become.





	1. i.

**Maya**

 

She’s poised, certain. Hand grips a faded-leather handle, the sleek blade poking out of the top, jagged from overuse, but still functional.

She waits.

That’s what this whole thing is—a waiting game. They wait for lifeless bodies wailing around them, wait for death, wait for some kind of a _sign_ . . . The clock ticks in their minds, reminding them of how short their stay on this earth has become.

The scent of rotting flesh fills her sinuses and curdles her stomach, and she becomes on guard almost immediately. Just a strike. Just one lunge, and it’s a goner. She’s become well-acquainted with how to deliver that one fatal blow.

The creature stumbles around, groaning and squeaking inhuman noises, its only form of communication. She can tell them apart now, too, so she knows what’s going to happen if she doesn’t pay attention—dinner time. And not for her.

She crouches down and peaks behind the corner of the brick building, watching for what the creature is doing. At the moment, its scavenging, searching for any sign of fresh flesh that make its mind dance and stomach sing. Her fingers roll and tap on the handle of her knife as she awaits her prey, and when it makes a move two inches closer, she lashes out like a viper, the knife digging into the base of its neck. It tumbles down to the asphalt soundlessly, but she can never be too careful, because—

“Hey, Maya!”

She jumps, turning around and holding the person behind her at knife-point. He holds his hands up in surrender, but his face has a grin on it, one that she wishes she could wipe off at the moment. Instead, she punches him on the arm, _hard_.

“ _Damnit_ , Farkle!!!” Maya screeches at him. “Don’t you know that it’s stupid to sneak up on someone during a zombie apocalypse?!” He raises a brow at her.

“Gee, that seemed to have slipped my mind. Let me go and look at my zombie apocalypse hand guide that I always have with me. Oh, wait.” She sneers at him, but inside is a little proud of his sarcastic remark. Maya’s rubbing off on him.

“So, did you get what we were here for?” she asks him, placing her knife back into its makeshift sheath.

“Sure did. There was plenty of stuff inside, too. We really hit the jackpot on this one.” He pauses for a second, his brows furrowing as if considering something, before turning back towards Maya. “Where’s Riley?”

“Oh, she’s—” As if on cue, a bloodcurdling screech erupts from the other side of the building where their friend was posted, and it only takes a split second for the two of them to decide to sprint after her. Maya’s got endurance on her side, but it’s Farkle’s long strides that make it over to where she is first.

“Let. Me. _Go!!!!_ ” Riley shouts, struggling against a man who has his entire arm wrapped around her neck, keeping her hostage.

“No, _little girlie_. You’re ours now,” he grunts, and Maya wants to barf. What a creep!

“Alright, chubby. Let the girl go. Don’t you have better things to be doing?” Maya asks him, stepping forward from the shadows. Even though Riley’s eyes are bulging out of her skull from being held forcefully, they still gleam with hope when they catch sight of her friends.

“Hmm, how about I _don’t_?” he grumbles, smirking afterward, his teeth all yellowed and jagged. Maya has to admit—at the moment, the _zombies_ are looking better than him.

“Okay, no easy way out. How about dumbass meet blade?” He stares blankly as Maya retracts her knife, the blade still gleaming a sickly black from the zombie she took down not too long ago. He’s not as fast as she is, especially not since he’s holding back Riley, but he still manages to pull his own weapon, a pistol. Maya can feel Farkle’s eyes staring her down from behind, telling her to be careful, but she ignores him. She’s got this.

“I’d think twice about that, missy,” the man says, holding his pistol up. Maya chuckles.

“You think a little ol’ pistol is gonna bring me down? Unfortunate. Really.”

“Um, Peaches? I think I’m gonna have to agree with him on this one. Pistol beats knife,” Riley utters. Maya grins wide, tilting her head to the side.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Riles. I know that pistol beats knife. But you know what beats pistol? A simple distraction, and our dearest friend, Farkle.” Maya nods her head to Farkle who is now situated behind the man, giving him the signal to do his thing. He presses his fingers to the crook of the man’s neck and he releases Riley instantly, crumpling to the ground. Riley runs over to Maya, hugging her tightly as she tries to catch her breath.

“Oh my god, thank you so much!” she wails at her. Maya shrugs.

“Don’t thank me. I only provided the distraction. It’s our genius over there that you should be thanking.” They both shift to look at Farkle, who is busy patting down the man for any sort of supply. There’s a crease in his brow—he’s none too fond of taking items from people, despite whether or not they’re bad.

“Alright, Minkus. If you’re gonna be a wuss about then just step aside and let me do it, alright?” Maya shoves Farkle to the side with her hand, gesturing with her head towards Riley. “Go to her.” He obliges, removing himself from the man on the ground to comfort their other friend. Maya picks at the body, taking _everything_.

He doesn’t deserve to survive if he’s gonna be a prick about it. Rule #1 in **Maya Hart’s Official Zombie Apocalypse Handbook™**.

“This dumbass didn’t even have anything, really. Just a few bullets, a pistol, a knife, and some—” Maya stops when she catches sight of the mound of small, turquoise squares marked _Trojan_ , backing away from him immediately. “Nevermind. Let’s go.”

Maya gives the guys a couple of swift kicks to the gut (she’s not one to murder any breathers, but she sure will beat the shit out of them if they are assholes), joining Farkle and Riley after. They’re sharing a tender moment—Farkle holding Riley and stroking her hair while she settles after her traumatic experience. Maya feels like she should give them their space, but they need to get a move on pronto. Daylight’s a-ticking away.

“Come on, guys. Let’s get a move on. We gotta find somewhere to set up camp tonight.”

The two break away at Maya’s command, Riley rubbing at her eyes after and Farkle picking his pickaxe off the ground. They group together to make some sort of a game plan like they do every night, or rather every time they move from one location to the next. Farkle pulls the crumpled map out from his pocket, unwrapping it so that they can figure out their next destination. At the moment, all they’re really doing is running in circles.

“So, I’ve been thinking—we don’t know how spread out this virus is, but from what I’ve noticed, it particularly likes the warmth. That way it’s able to culminate and spread quicker. We’ve been lucky being in New York like we are, with the weather so frigid, but unfortunately for us, large cities tend to disperse disease faster due to proximity,” Farkle explains. Maya quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Dumb it down a little, genius.” He rolls his eyes.

“We need to go north, where the cold is. That’s the safest place we can go right now.”

“Where north?” Riley asks Farkle.

“Canada?” he says. Maya shakes her head.

“Not Canada. I don’t want to go there.” Farkle grits his teeth.

“Sorry to break it to you, Maya, but we can’t really afford to act on _feelings_.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause—”

“Guys, guys! Focus!” Riley cuts in, pushing herself between the two of them. Maya huffs but listens to Riley anyway, pursing her lips. “Alright, now what are our other options, Farkle? We can decide _together_ what we think about it. This is a democracy, after all.”

Riley. Always the mediator.

“Our top priority really _should_ be Canada,” Farkle says, eyeing Maya cautiously, “But there are other options we can explore. In terms of travel time, Canada’s the closest. Our other options are Maine, the second closest but not a place I can guarantee is cold, and Minnesota—further away, but our second coldest option to Canada.   

“Wherever we end up, we’ll probably have to hotwire a car,” (Maya grins when Farkle nods over to her), “And locate a working fuel source. I’m pretty well-adept at making fuel, but that would take us more time than we have, so that’ll be our last resort. So the further away, the more fuel we’ll have to acquire.”

“So Maine, Minnesota, and Canada are our three options?” Riley asks him. Farkle nods his head.

“In terms of stable, cold climates, those three are our best choices. Ready to vote?”

“Yes,” Riley and Maya echo in unison.

“Alright,” Farkle says, “On the count of three, we’ll all shout our choice. One . . . two . . . _three!_ ”

“Maine!”

“Minnesota!”

“Canada!”

Maya doesn’t think she’s ever seen Farkle this mad and puffy before, but it sure does get a good laugh out of her.

“You guys are all useless,” Farkle mutters, dejected. Maya pats him on the back unsympathetically.

“That’s what happens when three different people come together.”

“No, that’s just what happens when you hang out with two girls who are unbelievably stubborn in their own ways,” he huffs, but Maya can hear his endearment for the two of them push through the surface of his tone.

“How about we just find another warehouse to sleep in tonight? Dinner’s on me!” Riley offers. Maya rolls her eyes, but only half-heartedly.

“Sounds like a plan to me. Any objections, Farkle?” she asks him. He shakes his head, stuffing the map back into his pocket.

“Nope. On the road again it is.” She reaches over to pinch his cheeks, a satisfied smirk appearing on her face when he smacks her hand away.

That’s her Farkle.

 

* * *

 

**Farkle**

 

_Stardate 94551.3_

_Supplies are all in check. We have enough to get us through the next three days, possibly a week if we stretch it. All weapons need to be sharpened again for maximum proficiency in battle. My axe can probably persist for another week or two, but Maya and Riley’s knives need a sharpening block sooner rather than later._

_Remember to bring up relocation once again. Maya is definitely too recalcitrant for her own good, but maybe if I talk to Riley separately we might arrive at a decision quicker. The faster we’re out of New York and into more frigid conditions, the greater chance at survival we have. New York only stays cool for so long, and the confines of the city are not good grounds for subsisting. The more time we spend here, the higher our rate of mortality goes up._

_In Layman’s terms—not a good thing. Not a risk I am willing to take._

_In regards to—_

“FARKLE! WHATCHA DOING OVER THERE?!”

Over his dead body is Maya going to find out that he’s kept a journal since the outbreak. Cataloguing puts his mind at ease. Also, the _Star Trek_ reference is a little too geeky, and even he wouldn’t blame Maya for making fun of him over it. But he doesn’t want either Maya _nor_ Riley to get a look at his journal. Despite his tenacity to stick to observations of the present, he can’t help but slip personal information into it.

He does not want that shit to get out _at all_.

“Making sure we have enough supplies to keep us going for the next few days,” Farkle replies, cramming his journal back into his bag haphazardly. Maya takes no notice of his strange behavior, or if she does, she makes no mention of it aloud. Then again, strange is not out of the ordinary in regards to him, so she’s more likely to write off the behavior as a ‘Farkle-ism’.

“Hey, Farkley. Mind if I sit?” Farkle’s attention is deterred when Riley approaches him, her eyes tired but still bright like they always are.

“Of course,” he says, patting the empty spot beside him. She takes her cue to seat herself on the dusty ground of the warehouse they’re staying in for the night, leaning over to take a peek into his bag.

“You don’t happen to have the _stuff_ , do you?” she asks innocently. Farkle chuckles softly, nodding his head.

“Of course I did. I didn’t spend a good hour in that building for nothing.” He digs into his bag for her, retrieving the very thing she requested when he made his trip into an abandoned grocer in town. A good portion of the items in the store had still remained, much to his relief, and the item she wanted appeared to him like a Holy Grail, he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Farkle aims to please Riley, to say the least. She’s got him wrapped around her finger.

“As you requested, here is a pack of Haribo Gummi Bears, fresh off the rack.”

He presents the rainbow assortment of tiny gummy bears to her, and she grabs for it like she hasn’t eaten in a year and the gummy bears are her saving grace. Riley opens the pack and begins devouring the bears, and Farkle can’t help but admire her even in such a state of disarray.

This is the first time she’s smiled, genuinely _smiled_ , since it all began. Farkle would pay big bucks to keep her supplied with gummy bears all the time, but unfortunately for him, money doesn’t matter in the world anymore. The only thing that matters is surviving, and he can come to terms with that.

“Want some?” she asks him a moment later, stretching out a handful to him. Farkle takes the offering happily, snaking slowly on the gummy bears beside him. He’s never been a fan of them, but when the world’s in chaos around you, sometimes you can bend your own rules a little for the sake of just wanting some dang sugar every once in a while.

“Farkle Minkus, you’re my hero,” Riley mutters after devouring almost three-fourths of the bag of gummy bears, leaning back on her hands with a blissful grin on her face. “You really know how to treat a girl.”

“I aim to please,” he tells her with a shrug, but his stomach does somersaults despite his nonchalant attitude. Farkle decides to change the subject, because he probably won’t get any sleep if her constant appraisal of him doesn’t stop. “You figure out where you’re gonna sleep tonight?”

“Well, gee, this warehouse really is like a five-star hotel. I can’t choose,” Riley quips. “I don’t know, where are you sleeping?” Farkle pats the ground around him.

“You’re looking at it. I booked the honeymoon suite for myself. The pillows are all pre-fluffed and stuffed with down feathers, and there’s even a memory-foam mattress. Jealous?” She laughs at him, her eyes crinkling.

“I am. There any room for me in this suite? I’m feeling a bit on edge tonight and don’t really want to be alone.” Farkle understands what she means right away. After being captured by some creepy man who was going to take her away for purposes he’d rather not think about, he doesn’t blame her for wanting company.

“Of course. There’s always room for Riley Matthews.”

“Ugh, you two make me sick, flirting like that. At least find me someone decent out in this wreckage so I’m not a third wheel anymore,” Maya interrupts them, hovering above. Farkle’s cheeks ignite furiously from her implications.

“What’s up, Peaches?” Riley greets her, bubbly.

“The roof,” Maya answers matter-of-factly, nudging Farkle’s book bag with her foot after. “You have any pens and paper in there? I need some.” Farkle nods his head, leaning over to dig into the worn pack to retrieve said items. He’s able to locate an old restaurant pen he discovered in an abandoned drug store and then relinquishes a couple pieces of lined paper from his notebook to her.

“Here’s your pen and paper, like you requested,” he says with a bow. Maya snorts at him, but her smirk doesn’t fade.

“Thanks, Farks. I’ll stay up and take first watch tonight. You two go ahead and get some rest. We’ve had a long day.” She parts ways and heads back to her spot by some old crates in the warehouse, leaving Riley and Farkle to themselves once again.

“What do you suppose she needs that pen and paper for?” Riley speculates for a moment before remembering something, her face softening and slightly melancholy.

“Drawing. She’s drawing.”

Farkle hums in acknowledgement, and he can’t help but share the sentiment. Drawing’s one of the things that has always kept Maya grounded, and now it’s just another thing being taken away from her.

He can’t even _begin_ to relate.

“C’mon, let’s just go to sleep,” Riley says a few seconds later, tugging on his coat sleeve. Farkle nods his head and follows suit, lying on his back on the hard cement floor. He doubts he’ll get sleep, or barely even a wink, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

. . . . . _God_ , his psyche won’t let him rest. Farkle’s always on edge now, and it doesn’t help that he worries for Maya and Riley’s safety constantly. He fears that the moment he closes his eyes, something bad will happen to them, and he could _never_ life with knowing that he let that happen.

They’re invaluable, the two of them are. 

“Hey, Farkle?” Riley’s not asleep yet, either. Is this just going to be a continuous game of “let’s all pretend we’re asleep but not really?”

“Yeah, Riley?”

“Do you mind letting me sleep against you? I’m still not feeling comfortable.”

“Of course, Riley. C’mere.” Farkle extends an arm out to allow her space against his chest. It’s not an unfamiliar gesture; they’ve done it in the past. Whenever Riley gets anxious like this, he always offers her comfort, no matter what. And it’s no double standard to him—if Maya were to ask, he would gladly allow her to do so, as well. But she never does, so it’s just a Riley and Farkle thing, and Farkle can’t say he minds too much.

Riley scoots closer to him, pressing herself to his chest, burrowing in the warmth he has to offer. It’s not much, but his coat does have a very nice fleece lining, so he’s as cozy as he’ll get. She has no qualms against his temperature, because she settles with no difficulty. Farkle wraps his arm around her shoulder, leaning his head against hers and closing his eyes, trying to will away the butterflies that have manifested in his stomach so that he can get some damn rest. Heaven knows he needs it.

“Farkley?” Riley asks quietly, her words a muffled reverb through his chest.

“Riles?” She reaches over to grab his free hand, the one that’s not already draped over her shoulder, playing with it absentmindedly.

“Do you think we’re going to die?” That wakes Farkle up a bit.

Riley’s never been one to be gloomy, even since the apocalypse started. Optimism is practically her middle name, so her question reveals so much of her that she tries to keep hidden miles behind smiles and constant positivity. Everything really must be getting to her now, finally settling in her mind, and Farkle _hates_ it. He hates that this dumb world is taking everything from his best friends that make up who they are.

It’s all bullshit.

“Eventually,” he answers truthfully, because that’s a fact—humans all die eventually.

“ _No_ ,” she presses, “I mean now. Do you think we’ll make it through this? Do you think we’ll survive long enough that they can make a cure?” Riley’s wide, russet eyes stare at him expectantly, waiting for answers that he confesses even he doesn’t know. Genius or not, he’s not some higher power. He’s only boy.

“I don’t know, Riley. I really don’t,” he sighs, his eyes meeting the roof of the warehouse. “I’d sure like to hope so, though. I hope you and me and Maya all make it, and that we live a long and happy life.”

“I hope so, too,” she agrees, her fingers squeezing around his hand for comfort. “I want to be able to live the rest of my life out with you,” she adds afterward, and Farkle has to tamper down his own buzzing thoughts.

She doesn’t realize the weight of her words, and it makes him sad. He’d mean those words in every context, because he’d go to hell and back for her. He’d do anything for her.

If she said jump, he’d simply ask, “How high?”

“I want that, too, Riley,” Farkle finally responds a moment later. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“Not in a million years, Farkle Minkus,” Riley chirps, intertwining her fingers with his. “You’re my important person.”

He has no real response to that. In the race of “who wants what more”, she’s definitely won. She has his heart in a vice grip, after all. So he presses a quick kiss against the crown of her head before settling back down on the floor, shutting his eyes so that he catches no hint of an expression from her. He doesn’t need to know how she feels about him; he never did.

All Farkle ever needed was Riley Matthews by his side, no matter what capacity.

She’s his important person, too, and always will be.  

 

* * *

 

**Riley**

 

It’s been hard.

She’s not going to pretend that she can keep up the same persona she held when she was just a normal teenage girl in a normal world. Happy Riley is a thing of the past, at least for the most part. She can’t afford to pretend, not now. She’s got one main prerogative, and that’s survive.

Oh, and stick with Maya and Farkle. She’d sooner waste away than be separated from those two.

Maya’s her other half. She’s the girl she grew up with, her kindred spirit. Farkle’s her rock. He’s the boy next door type, her partner in crime. Together, the three of them are a well-oiled machine, and she’d be damned if they ever went separate ways.

But life doesn’t always work out the way she wants it to.

If it did, she’d be sitting in the middle of her mother’s café, reading a book for her literature class and enjoying a cup of cinnamon hot cocoa with Maya and Farkle as they argue about who gets to spend Christmas with Riley at the ski lodge this year.

It’s always the both of them, they know it and she knows it, but it’s tradition for them now.

A tradition they’ve lost.

Riley still counts down the days until Christmas, regardless of whether or not they’ll be alive then. She’ll spot some small thing every once in a while and pick it up, planning on finding some sort of paper to wrap it with so she can gift it to Maya or Farkle. She still wants them to have the Christmas they deserve, regardless of the fact that the world is a desolate wasteland now. They at least need a little bit of fun in their lives. She feels that she’s justified in that thinking.

“You okay, Riley? You’ve been awfully quiet.” A shoulder knocks into hers, _Farkle’s_ , and she’s pulled from her thoughts. When Riley looks at him, his mouth is quirked into a tiny smile, one he’s offered her more times than she can count on her own two hands.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, knocking her shoulder back into his gently. “I’m just thinking, is all.”

“Can I ask about what?” Riley shrugs.

“Just about how I wish we were all in _Topanga’s_ like we used to be, drinking cocoa and having a good time. It’s dumb, though. Wishful thinking won’t get me anywhere,” she muses sadly, sighing. Farkle reaches over to her hand, giving it a tight squeeze with his own hand before letting it go.

“No, it’s not dumb. I think we’re all allowed to dream about the past. Besides, if we’re lucky, one day we’ll be able to do that. We can dream about the future, too,” he says with a grin, one that makes his eyes sparkle just the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Do you have any dreams about our future, Farkle?” He coughs a little after she asks, and she’s not quite sure if his cheeks are red because of the bitter cold stinging at them, or if he’s blushing. But he’s not one to blush, so she assumes it’s the first one.

“Uhhhh,” he gawks, eyes focused forward, “Sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?” Riley presses.

“Well, it’s like—”

“HEADS UP! WE GOT SOME ROTS COMIN’ UP!”

Maya’s yelling breaks up the two of them instantly, and Riley watches as Farkle flawlessly shifts into ‘Farkle Time’ mode, the one where he’s dead serious and cold calculating, his hands gripping his ax and ready to take on whatever comes his way. Riley envies it a bit, but she tries to follow his lead, taking her combat knife from its sheath at her hip and arming herself.

Although she may not be a fan, taking down zombies is becoming almost too easy for her.

There’s only five of them, but the larger the group, the harder it is to take them down. Thankfully for them, these guys are moving at a relatively slow speed, so they can flank off and take them down one by one. They have their rules for taking down the zombies, too—whatever zombie is closest in height to them, then that’s theirs to spar with. Riley spots her target right away—an older woman hobbling along, but more than ready to strike.

She breaks off from the group and strikes.

They’ve more than learned by now not to underestimate a single zombie. Age doesn’t factor into the strength of one—when you’re dead, age no longer becomes something that determines physical state. The longer a zombie has been a zombie, the stronger they are. The more they feast, the more their speed increases.

Luckily for them, these guys haven’t feasted recently. Unluckily for them, they haven’t feasted in a while, so they’re _hungrier_. They become more savage on an empty stomach.

Riley’s become used to using the combat knife by now, able to take zombies down quickly, but it doesn’t help that it’s a close-range weapon. There are specific places where they have to strike the zombies in order for them to die for good—the base of the neck where the spinal cord is, or anywhere on the head to damage the brain.

Riley’s favorite spot is the base of the neck. Less messy, quicker to reach. Her knife finds that exact spot on the older lady without effort, so before the woman can even land a hand on her, she’s crumpling to the ground, going still within a second of impact.

She shifts to face the remaining two, taking on the one closest to her while Farkle moves onto the one beside it. He brings his ax down against its neck, decapitating it almost immediately—a gruesome sight, but one Riley’s become more than accustomed to. Riley curls her arm around to stab the final zombie, but as she moves to do so, something flashes by, knocking the zombie to the ground as black blood splatters across her clothes and face. She’s about to yell at Maya or Farkle, _whoever_ , for taking her win from her, but when she turns, it’s not either of them she sees.

Instead, it’s a boy roughly her age, a line of blood smeared across his unshaven face, blond hair sticking up all over the place, and a baseball bat in his hand, his icy blue eyes watching her intensely. Riley’s eyes widen, her head tilting with confusion.

“You alright?” the unknown boy asks, wiping his bat on his pants leg. Riley nods her head, still puzzled.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Who are you?” she inquires of him, breathless. He flashes her a quick grin.

“I’m Lucas Friar, ma’am. At your service.” He does a sort of a bow with his head as if he were wearing a hat, and his southern accent catches her off guard. What’s a southern boy like him doing all the way in upstate New York?

“Thanks for saving me, Lucas,” she tells him, a smile forming on her own face. “I’m Riley, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Riley.”

“You all alone out here?” Riley prods, peering around him to see if there’s anyone else lagging behind. He nods his head solemnly.

“Afraid so. It’s just me and this bat here,” he answers, shrugging.

Riley feels another presence, well, two rather, creep up behind her, alerting her to Maya and Farkle’s company.

“Riley, who’s this?” Farkle presses, alarmed. His ax is held just high enough to be on guard, and when she glances over at Maya, she notices that she’s doing the same thing with her own dagger.

“Guys,” Riley says, moving over beside Lucas, her hand clasping onto his arm, “This is Lucas Friar.”

“What the hell is a Lucas Friar?” Maya grunts. Lucas raises his hand.

“That’s me, ma’am,” he greets her, and Maya audibly gags.

“He just saved my life.” Riley pauses a moment, a bright idea forming in her mind, and then her eyes light up like Christmas trees. “Can we keep him?” she asks, her eyes fluttering innocently. Both Maya and Farkle’s arms drop at their sides, their weapons retreating. They exchange a _look_ quickly before their gazes return to Riley.

“ _No_ ,” they both deadpan in unison.

“Aw, c’mon, guys. He’s not that bad. Really!” she pleads, trying her best to sell him to her friends. “He took down that zombie for me!”

“Riley, I’m pretty positive you would’ve done that if he hadn’t stepped in anyway,” Farkle points out. He rolls his eyes when she casts him her famous puppy dog look, and walks over to her side, tugging on her jacket. “C’mon, let’s talk.”

“Look, we could use another person in our group, Farkle,” Riley insists when they’re a few feet of hearing distance from Lucas.

“Riley, we’re not just going to pull strangers into our group all willy-nilly. You’ve known him all of five seconds! We don’t know what kind of a person he is!”

“He’s our age, Farkle. I’m sure he’s just as lost as we are. I just don’t feel comfortable leaving him behind.” Riley stares at Farkle expectantly, feeling a little guilty for using her sweet spot he has for her, but mostly just trying to help someone out.

“Alright, Mother Teresa,” Farkle sighs a moment later after careful consideration, “I’m fine with it. But I’m not the one you have to convince.” He gestures over to where Maya is, currently up in Lucas’s face presumably teasing him.

“Ha-hurr!!!” Maya exclaims as they return to the two. Riley grabs onto Maya’s arm, pulling her back a bit to give Lucas some room.

“ _Maya_ ,” Riley whines a bit to her best friend, gaining her attention. “Farkle agreed to keeping him. Is it alright with you?” Maya’s face drops, her brows furrowing as she turns towards Farkle.

“Damnit, Minkus! Why can’t you keep your feelings out of things?!” Farkle makes no move to answer that, and Maya exhausts a long, dramatic groan in response. “Ugggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh fiiine. Huckleberry here can come with us. He’s . . . okay with the bat after all, I guess.”

“Yay!!! Welcome to the group, Lucas!” Riley congratulates him, shaking his hand firmly with hers.

“Thanks,” he says, his hand warm in hers. She feels something press against her side and nudge her gently, breaking the grip of her hand in his. When she looks up, she sees Farkle, ever so vigilant, sticking his hand out to greet Lucas.

“I’m Farkle,” he states, and Riley can’t help but giggle as she watches him puff his chest out a bit.

“Nice to meet you, Farkle,” Lucas acknowledges, giving his hand a firm shake before releasing it. “Thanks for letting me join your team.”

“Yeah,” Farkle mutters, and Riley almost doesn’t hear what he says afterward, but somehow manages to pick up on it. “ _You better watch yourself, Friar_.”

She jabs Farkle in the side with her elbow, but Lucas seems to take his words seriously bowing his head once.

“Of course.”

As always, though, Maya keeps their heads in the game, yelling at them to, ‘get their asses in gear’ or else she’s going to leave them behind. Farkle allows Lucas to go ahead of them first before following behind alongside Riley.

“You good, Farkley?” Riley asks him.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Riley. I don’t trust him,” he admits, his lips thinning as they walk along the deserted road, the sun beginning to set in the distance. “But I do trust you. I hope he’s a good person.”

“I know he is,” she insists, watching Lucas’s back as he attempts to talk to Maya up ahead. Farkle breathes, his fingers gripping the blood-splattered wood of his ax tensely.

“You always want to see the good in people, Riley, and I appreciate that. But the world is different now. We can’t just walk up to strangers and give them our full trust. It’s survival of the fittest, and he very well could be using us.”

“He’s _not_.”

“Riley, just look out for yourself, okay? That’s all I’m saying. Don’t keep yourself too open to the world, not now. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

Farkle ceases talking to her afterward, his eyes focusing ahead of him as they make their way along the long stretch of asphalt. Riley’s mind digests Farkle’s words, wondering to herself if he’s right.

What if Lucas really is using them? What if he’s just a pretty face sent to take them down for supplies? It wouldn’t surprise her, but she seems so confident that he isn’t. She wants to give him her trust; she really does.

The world hasn’t lost its gray areas, that’s for sure.


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh so yeah? I'm finally updating this after 1 1/2 years of radio silence. I just felt the urge to write for this fic, and I've been writing a multitude of things with reckless abandon this summer, so we'll see where it goes.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

** Maya **

Maya Penelope Hart.

Her name is Maya Penelope Hart, and she does not like change one _bit_.

For her, it’s always been Riley, Maya, and Farkle, and she fully intended on keeping it that way. The three of them shared their lives together, and that’s how it was supposed to go until they all kicked the bucket.

But then zombies.

But then _Lucas Friar_.

Maya cannot _stand_ Lucas Friar, because he’s the embodiment of all she’s ever come to hate in life— _change._ Lucas is change, and change is _not good_. 

So why is he still here?

“And that’s how I helped birth a baby cow,” Lucas says as they sit around a fire they’ve made in the little alcove they found, Riley at his side, her eyes peering into his with awe. Maya can’t help but audibly gag at his story—he’s such a dumb, stupid Texan farmer boy. Why should she treat him better than anyone else? Why should she give him the time of day?

“Fire’s good to go, Riley,” Farkle interrupts them, stepping back from kindling the fire to look at her. Maya kicks her in the shin when she realizes that Riley has made no effort to tear her gaze away from Lucas.

“ _Riles_ ,” she whispers harshly, bringing Riley back to earth. 

“Huh?” Farkle points at the fire, unamused.

“You. Fire. Food. _Now_.” 

As Riley scrambles to her feet to dig through the food bag so she can prepare dinner, Maya can’t help but look at Farkle with a hint of pity. 

He’s fighting a losing battle.

At least Maya knows he’s on her side, one-hundred percent. Their reasons for it may be a little different, but all-in-all, they’re both not fans of Lucas Friar butting his way into their group. It doesn’t help that they both are bad at saying no to Riley, so they can only blame themselves really for the situation they’re in. 

But still. 

Lucas Friar needs to go.

“Beans and rice okay with everyone?” Riley asks as if they really have a choice. 

“Yup,” they all agree in unison, and Riley begins to prepare their food. 

“Farkle, can you get me the can opener and the pot, please?” she asks him. He nods his head and starts rifling through his own bag, leaving Maya and Lucas alone to their own devices. 

Lucas’s baby blues watch Maya across the campfire, almost daring her to make some sort of a move. 

As if. 

Maya Hart listens to _no man_ , certainly not Lucas Friar. Unfortunately for her, her adamant silence isn’t enough to keep the quiet between the two of them, because Lucas moves closer and begins conversation with her anyway.

“So Maya, what do you do for fun around here?” She sticks her nose high in the air to visibly show that she is blatantly ignoring him. She refuses to speak to this dumb, country hick.

Unfortunately for her, he is not like everyone else that would get the hint right away that she didn’t want to associate with them—not now, not ever. Instead, Lucas scoots even _closer_ to her so that he’s right next to her, flashing her a dazzling grin that she will most certainly _not_ acknowledge.

“You know, I can tell you’re not really this hard-edged. I’ve met plenty of cowboys in my time, guys that refused to show their emotions, but really that’s all just a disguise. They just pretend to be that way so that they can be alone out there in the world without getting hurt. I’ll bet you more than anything that’s what’s up with you.”

“Wow, Ranger Rick, that really hit me deep. You know what? You’ve got me pegged. You really do,” Maya says with a warm smile, her hand over her heart. “I’m just a lil’ prairie girl that needs saving, a damsel in distress. And why, you’re here now, aren’t you? I’ve got myself a cowboy of my own to ride in on a white horse and save me!” Lucas’s grin quickly fades when he realizes how sarcastic she’s being, his brow furrowing.

“Maybe you’re right, Maya. Maybe I don’t have you pegged, but you certainly aren’t as opaque as you think. Even the murkiest of muds have their water.” 

Maya doesn’t hate Lucas even more because he thinks he knows her. She hates him because despite only knowing him for only a day, he has more of her figured out than she does, and she will not let him dig deeper into her skin.

“Touching, really touching. Do you practice that line with all the gals that don’t like you?” Maya attempts to fight back, but Lucas seems unmoved by her tactics.

“No, I don’t. And I don’t expect you to like me, Maya. I expect you to realize that you’re not as alone in this world as you think you are.”

“MAYA!! WHERE’S THE SALT?!” Riley interrupts them, shattering the weird atmosphere that had accumulated between the two of them. Maya’s eyes hold onto Lucas’s a moment longer before glancing over to her friend.

“Front pocket, Riles.”

“Thanks, Peaches!”

Lucas gives her a sideways look at the mention of her nickname, and the only expression she can muster for him is one small bit embarrassment with mostly “fuck you” stitched into it.

He gets the hint immediately.

As the conversation between her and Lucas dies down, Maya listens carefully to the crackling of the fire in front of her, the ruckus of Riley and Farkle making dinner fading into the background. In all honesty, she kind of likes having time to herself apart from Riley and Farkle. Not that she doesn’t love them to pieces, but she’s always been more independent. 

She’s used to having to fend for herself, to say the least.

And now that Lucas is part of the group, he threatens that. He threatens all that’s left of what she has of herself, and she’s not about to let some pretty boy from Texas ruin that. Maya can’t deny that what he said resonated with her, but she refuses to think on it, despite how much it’s been echoing in her mind and chest since the words escaped his lips.

_ I don’t expect you to like me, Maya. I expect you to realize you aren’t as alone in this world as you think you are. _

_ God _ , who does this Huckleberry think he is, shoving his way into her life and then insisting he knows everything about her? He doesn’t know _shit_ about her. Maya’s life and how she feels are hers and hers alone, and just because Lucas was able to read into a little bit of who she is, doesn’t mean he _knows_ her.

The only people in her life who know her are the ones she has left, the ones who have stuck with her since the beginning. Riley and Farkle are the only people she allows in her heart, and there’s definitely not any room for stupid cowboys and their dumb psychology.

Psychology’s for the birds, baby.

Rule #2 in **Maya Hart’s Official Zombie Apocalypse Handbook™** —never trust a pretty face. Even the prettiest things in nature tend to be the most lethal.

“MAYAAAAA!!!! PEPPER?!” Riley shouts. Maya sighs, leaning her chin into her hand.

“Still front pocket, Riles.” 

“. . . _Oh!_ Thanks!”

Where would either of them be without her? 

She thinks about that a lot.

As Riley and Farkle hold their pots over the fire, Maya and Lucas remain quiet, keeping peace as they stare at the fire, and Maya’s okay with that. At this point, she’d rather Lucas not keep trying to shovel into her psyche anymore. She’s not anyone’s excavation site that they can just clear away the mess and find gold. She’s all dirt and bones, a lost cause, so it’s better off that he back away while he’s still able.

Still, there’s something about Lucas Friar that unsettles her. Not in a “he’s a creep let’s get rid of him” way, no. She’d never admit it, but she has a feeling Riley is right about him just being a hitchhiker in need of a group. His intentions don’t scream bad; he’s just in the same boat as all of them.

“Food’s almost done,” Farkle announces not too many minutes later. Maya’s stomach growls immediately and she’s surprised, not even realizing she was hungry to begin with.

That’s the thing about apocalypses—your appetite diminishes greatly, and you’re so focused on everything else around you that you forget how to live. It’s probably because you’re not supposed to be living in the first place, but Maya would rather not dwell on that fact.

While Farkle and Riley remain peacefully together at the fire, Maya can’t help but notice how Farkle’s hiding his tenseness. Riley’s too caught up in her romanticization of this dumb cowboy to notice anything else, but Maya does have to admit—it is a little funny to see the way Farkle seethes at the sight of him, his nostrils flaring wildly. 

But mostly she feels sad for him.

Farkle would never acknowledge his feelings for Riley out loud, especially not before it all happened, but now it’s become increasingly harder for him to deny them. The three of them have known each other since kindergarten, and he’d loved her then and loves her now, albeit in different ways. And Maya knows for a fact that Riley teeters in the same direction with her feelings for him, but she’s about as clueless as ever, and now that Lucas is in the picture, well . . .

It’s not looking good for him.

And Maya hates that, too, because she secretly roots for them. Farkle had always promised that he loved them both equally, but Maya had figured out long ago that equal didn’t mean same, and that fact didn’t hurt her one bit. They’re made for each other, and if the world hadn’t turned into a shit hole then they probably would’ve fallen together naturally, Maya speculates. But unfortunately for them, the world collapsed, and any hope of natural blew by the wayside.

If he wants any shot at being with her, Farkle’s going to just pull himself up by the bootstraps and lay everything on the line. But he’s Farkle—shy as ever, just wanting to keep everything together. Maya knows that he thinks telling her his feelings would mean him risking losing her forever, and in their situation, she doesn’t blame him for thinking that. 

He just can’t afford to deal with awkward feelings at such a sensitive time as this.

That’s just the way things go, nowadays.

 //

** Lucas **

Lucas Friar is _not_ dumb. He may be from Texas, and he may seem like a “pretty face”, but he’s far from it, at least when it comes to people.

He can tell when he’s not wanted.

Of course, Farkle does a better job at hiding it. He can already tell he’s a people pleaser, or at least a Riley-pleaser, so he’ll be nice for her benefit if anything. Maya, on the other hand . . .

Let’s just say she’s very clear as to what her feelings on him are.

He doesn’t understand it, either! Well, he sort of does, but that doesn’t mean they have to stick to it so harshly! He’s just a kid like them, after all, trying to make it in this stupid world the only way he knows how. Lucas didn’t expect to join their group, but when Riley invited him along, he wasn’t about to say no to that wonderful offer. He’s never been a lone cowboy; that’s just not how he rolls. He can tell Riley and Farkle are the same way.

Maya’s that way, too, even if she doesn’t realize it just yet.

. . . _God_ , life was way easier when he didn’t have to deal with killing zombies left and right. He’d rather stake tomato bugs with his spade than smack the undead upside the head with a baseball bat.

“Alright, guys, I’ve got some good food for you here! Or as good as it’ll get,” Riley wrestles Lucas away from his own subconscious as the aroma of sustenance wills him back into reality. She offers him up the first plate of food once he joins the three of them, much to Maya and Farkle’s chagrin, but he doesn’t care. He’s hungry, and if there’s one thing he learned in Texas, it’s to never turn down a meal, especially when your stomach is rumbling for it.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Lucas remembers his own Texan manners if only for a second, his hand reaching up to tip a hat that’s no longer there. Riley beams at him, but then moves on to hand her friends the next two plates. Maya takes her plate and sits across the campfire from him, an unsurprising move to Lucas. Farkle follows suit, taking the empty spot next to Maya while Riley plops down next to him.

Lucas hasn’t been with these people for long, but he’s keen enough to be aware of the divide he’s caused them. He doesn’t allow himself a sour disposition, however. He’s not going to let Maya and Farkle know that they’re affecting him, because that’d mean they’d win. 

Lucas Friar is not a quitter.

“These beans are good, Riley,” Lucas announces after too much silence passes. Riley smiles brightly at him.

“Thank you! I do try my best with what we’ve got!” she chirps back at him.  

“Well, it’s a mighty-fine makeshift meal, that’s for sure. More than I’ve been gettin’ out in these woods as of late.”

“I thought you knew how to wrangle cows and whatnot, Hop-Along. Surely you know how to wrassle up a meal,” Maya quips, her gaze not leaving the plate in front of her.

“Unfortunately, my farmhand skills don’t apply out here in New York,” Lucas bites back, desperate to defend himself. 

“Go figure. Our little Lone Star here can’t do nothin’,” Maya continues to tease, but Riley shoots her a vicious look across the fire, her eyes like daggers.

“ _Maya_ , cut it out,” Riley grits. “Leave Lucas alone. He didn’t do anything.” 

All of a sudden, Farkle’s paper plate dips into the fire abruptly, a deep scowl on his face as he picks up the axe beside him.

“I’m gonna go take first shift,” he announces curtly, not sparing them all a second glance before disappearing into the woods behind him. A worried expression etches itself upon Riley’s face, her concern for Farkle now taking precedence.

“I’m sorry, Lucas. I’m gonna go see what’s up with him.” She turns her gaze towards Maya, brows furrowing. “ _Play nice_.” Riley heads out after Farkle, leaving Maya and Lucas to themselves.

Great. Just what Lucas wanted.

//

** Farkle **

_ Whack _ . 

Stupid country boys—

__

_ Whack _ .

And their _stupid_ southern accents—

_ Whack. _

And their _stupid_ knack for—!!

Before Farkle is able to chuck his ax against the tree truck again, Riley comes into view, a frown wrought upon her face.

“Farkle, what the _hell_ ,” she bellows, her arms crossing. Farkle rolls his eyes in return.

“ _What_ ,” he hisses back, dropping his ax to his side. 

“Quit being an ass to Lucas! You and Maya _both_ , I _swear_ ,” she growls, frustrated. Farkle would laugh if he weren’t irritated himself.

“Riley, you don’t get it, do you? You don’t get why Maya and I are shutting him out, because you just like to live in this little fantasy world where we all get along and have a good time, except that it doesn’t fucking exist!” he growls back, watching as Riley curls back when he curses. He doesn’t do it much, and he knows she doesn’t like it, but whatever. She can get over it. He’s mad, with a right to be, and she doesn’t understand.

_ “Farkle,” _ she warns, her voice low, but he shakes his head. He loves Riley, he really does, but she needs to hear this. 

“Riley, the only reason the three of us are together is because we’ve been friends since forever. We _trust_ each other enough to take care of each other. Lucas doesn’t have that advantage. We don’t know him, and I don’t have the time to figure out if he’s worth trusting or not. This isn’t the old world, okay?” Riley doesn’t meet his gaze, but he can tell she’s not going to let this go without a fight. So be it.

“I know that, Farkle! You think I don’t know that?!” she shouts back, her fists curling at her sides. “I know that it’s not the old world, and I know you and Maya think I live like it is, but I don’t! I’m just trying to do what I do best, and that’s _help_ people. I want to help, and if I can help Lucas, then I already feel like I’m doing what I should in this shitty world.” The slipped curse word doesn’t go unnoticed by Farkle, and he feels himself soften immediately, breathing deep to center himself.

_ “I just want you to be okay,” _ he whispers, voice low and rough. He rubs his free hand over his face, exhausted from fighting with Riley. She must be, too, because she’s suddenly in front of him, her arms wrapping tightly around him.

“I know, Farkle. I know you’re protective of me, and I’m glad I have you to look out for me and Maya. But sometimes you just have to trust me enough when I make decisions like this. I know I don’t act like it, but I’m very aware of the world we’re in. Sometimes it’s just better to pretend like we’re not,” she sighs into his shoulder. Farkle’s open hand reaches up to rest on her back, rubbing circles into despite the fact that she’s wearing her denim jacket.

“I do trust you. I’m sorry if I made it feel like I didn’t,” he tells her, nose resting in her hair. “I just . . . It’s difficult. And it seemed like you . . . I don’t know . . .”

“Like I what?” Riley asks curiously, leaning her head back to look him in the eyes. He curses himself for letting his words slip like that, but he decides that perhaps it’s for the best.

“It seems like you like him better than us,” he says, and Riley looks at him curiously, her head tilting a bit. He knows the underlying phrase _better than me_ doesn’t go missed by her, because she knows him all too well. She offers him a soft smile instead, her russet eyes bright.

“I don’t like anyone better than I like you, Farkle. And that’s a fact.” Farkle can’t help but feel relieved by her statement.

They mollify each other. It’s what they do; it’s what they’ve always done.

Just as everything seems to be going back to normal, they hear a scream off in the distance— _Maya’s scream_ —and they both share a scared glance before running in the direction of their camp, Farkle’s ax gripped tightly in his hands and Riley unsheathing her knife from her side.

Before they can even reach the campsite, they’re both having to fend off zombies themselves—somehow they must’ve drawn out a hoard of them (and hungry ones, at that), and it wouldn’t be a problem for them, except they’re split up. Farkle feels panic rise in his throat, but he knows that Lucas can at least be trusted in combat; he saved Riley, and he can at least place trust in the fact that he’d save Maya too.

The panic fuels Farkle’s adrenaline, making it easy for him to take down zombies left and right. It feels like they keep coming tirelessly, like they’re cans popping out of a defunct vending machine, and the more that fill in, the harder it becomes to hold them off. 

“Farkle!” Riley calls out to him from the side. She’s being pushed back by the lot of them, and as soon as he’s got the one off his right flank, he makes a beeline for Riley. As he fends off the zombie trying to attack her, he makes a note in the back of his head to find her a better weapon than a fucking combat knife.

She stumbles back to her feet after he axes the zombie in the back of the neck, causing it to fall to the ground in a motionless heap. Riley grunts in frustration, wiping her forehead of the black blood that burst from the zombie. It smears, of course, and Farkle uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the rest of the blood off, his breathing shallow as they realize they fought the entire wave that had filed in, and that they’re seemingly safe for now. 

It dawns on them quickly that the mass drew them away from their camping site, and it takes them a good while to find where it is. When he and Riley finally stumble upon it, they notice immediately that the fire has been abandoned, the barest glow from the embers lighting the space. Maya and Lucas’ packs are gone, and they’re both nowhere to be found.

“We need to go find them,” Riley urges immediately, but before she can grab her things and rush off, Farkle grabs a hold of her wrist, shaking his head.

“Riley, it’s too late at night to go look for them. Maya has a flashlight, and we’ll stay here for the night so they can find us. If they haven’t come back by the morning, then we’ll just have to carry on.”

Riley isn’t a fan of that plan. In fact, she embraces a stance that says she’s going to fight about it, but Farkle’s face must really display how much he’s not a fan of it, either. If it were up to him, he’d wait forever until Maya returned, but they can’t afford to do that. It’s too risky; he knows it, Riley knows it. Riley relaxes in place, putting away her knife so that she can collapse on one of the logs they set up, her arms pressed up against her chest protectively.

“I’ll take the first watch,” she tells him, solemn, and Farkle nods, dragging the tarp out of his bag and settling on the forest floor. He offers Riley a soft _good night_ , and when she doesn’t reply, he turns on his side, closing his eyes until he drifts asleep. 

//

** Riley **

Riley doesn’t wake Farkle up when her watch is over. She knows she should, heaven knows she needs the rest, but she just . . . she _can’t_.

Not when Maya and Lucas are out there somewhere, maybe even hurt, and she can’t do anything about it. 

She especially doesn’t want to sleep because she feels like the moment she goes to sleep, the moment she’ll lose the chance of finding them, and she can’t risk that. She just can’t.

Her only comfort out of all of this is that she at least has Farkle. Farkle will do everything he can to protect her, and she knew exactly what he meant by moving on if they didn’t return to the campsite—it meant that they would leave, but they’d search the area thoroughly, looking for any sight of the two blonde-headed kids who looked like they wanted to do anything _but_ be with each other. She knew that them leaving wasn’t them quitting, because even Farkle wouldn’t give up Maya without fighting desperately. 

The three of them are the only family one another has now. And now Maya is gone, and Riley feels like she’s going to lose Farkle soon, too.

Farkle wakes up just as the sun starts poking through the trees, his gray eyes watching her carefully. She thinks for a moment _I’m not freaking glass, Farkle_ , but then remembers he knows that. He’s just checking to make sure she’s okay, if she needs anything. But he keeps that as wordless communication, because he knows right now that it’s better to not acknowledge it aloud at the moment. Instead he says,

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Riley shrugs.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He stares at her, arms crossed as he scans her face. He sighs a moment later, pointing at his tarp on the ground.

“Sleep. Now. Don’t argue.” They’ll lose time over it, but Farkle’s made up his mind about it. Riley does as he instructs without arguing, plopping down onto her side, tucking her legs up to her body. 

It takes her a while to sleep, because her body fights it as much as it can. It’s the anxiety that keeps her up, really, and it must be transparent, because soon Farkle’s at her side, holding out his hand. She laces her fingers with his, holding his hand close to her chest as he moves her head, settling it in his lap. He threads his fingers through the long strands of her hair, and it soothes her enough to let sleep finally consume her.

Her last thought is of the three of them—her, Maya, and Farkle—together on the playground they first met each other on, Maya scowling and Farkle smirking, the three of them positive that they’d be friends forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I was totally gonna post this yesterday because of Halloween and it being a zombie au and then also the day where our core three met and whatnot (especially riarkle), but that didn't happen because I actually had a social life for once and enjoyed the company of others??? Foreign concept, I know, but I did work on it a bunch. 
> 
> Anyway, so here's this thing! It's a work in progress, for sure, and I'm not entirely certain of what direction I want to go with this, but I do intend to work on it quite a bit. It's definitely a riarkle fic though despite there being lowkey rucas interactions at the end of this chapter, so there you go, no worries. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> ((Also: I didn't put any warnings/ratings/tags for this, so let me know if it should be tagged anyway and if so, how, because I am absolutely clueless as to how to do that even though I've written so many fics on here. I am a mess.))


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